


Midnight at the Musain

by Pastel_Teacups



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-23 14:57:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2551739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pastel_Teacups/pseuds/Pastel_Teacups
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens at the Musain in the middle of the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Midnight at the Musain

It’s quiet in the deep night of the Musain, and the patrons within it only disturb said silence on occasion. 

Gavroche is there, because the orphanage has nicked him out of a bed again, and is sleeping soundly on a line of chairs with somebody’s jacket draped over him. His cheek is pressed against the hard wood of the chair, and a graveyard-shift barista pats his head as they pass. 

Enjolras and Combeferre sit at a table in the far corner, arguing over the numerous pieces of papers scattered on the surface. Combeferre’s glasses slip, and he hurriedly pushes them up the bridge of his nose and keeps speaking. Enjolras argues over him in the Authoritative Voice, picking up a paper and gesturing to it wildly. Golden curls fall out of his low ponytail and into his diamond eyes, and he doesn’t seem to care enough to correct it. 

Courfeyrac half-sits, half-lays on a few chairs next to them, chiming in on occasion. His voice is always low, though, careful to not disturb the precious Jehan in his arms. 

His red hair is braided at the side of his face, and his head falls onto Courfeyrac’s chest in a perfect example of affection. His green eyes can’t be seen, as he’s sleeping, though his long eyelashes can be spotted for miles, resting against his smooth, almost-porcelain cheeks. His pink lips are parted slightly, and his small hands are tucked into the sleeve of what looks like Courfeyrac’s sweatshirt. He doesn’t stir. 

Grantaire sits on the other side of the room, deep in the shadows, a bottle of wine loose in his hand. He isn’t sure if anybody even sees him. His eyes rest on Enjolras, having been there for quite some time, and brings the bottle to his lips. His shirt contains various paint-stains along with his jeans. His sneakers-propped up on one of the chairs scattered around-have clearly seen better days. His brunette curls are a mess, and he can’t think of anything but Enjolras. 

Gavroche turns over in his sleep. 

Courfeyrac pipes up softly into the argument. 

Jehan sleeps. 

Grantaire takes another drink from his bottle. 

He’s seen worst days.


End file.
